What is “the church” to me? That was the question I was asked this morning in the place I chose to worship. A simple question? Most would say yes…but not to me. To myself, it is actually a poignant and difficult question.
In the message this morning we were brought back to the New Testament church. A church which didn’t consist of a location, but of a body. A body that took care of its own, as well as those who were needy in the community. The church was an tangible depiction of Jesus after He had ascended into the heavens. The church was meant to be, and is still meant to be the hands and feet of Jesus.
Now based on that accurate definition of what the church is supposed to be, and then relating it to what the church is specifically to me poses a very interesting discussion. If the church is to be the hands and feet of Jesus, and extension of who He is, then my view of Jesus is very misconstrued. Either that, or the church is just screwed up.
What I have experienced in the last few years as a “church”, is a group of everyday sinners hiding behind the mask of “christian”. I have experienced back stabbing, and biting. I have felt the pain of being alone in a huge group of “other believers”. I have been abandoned by those called to shepherd. I have had no one meet my needs, because no one ever cared to ask if I had any. I, and my family included, have seen…and felt…what makes most people skeptical of Christians and church in general.
The biggest irony here? My husband has worked for these so called churches! Oh yes, we have sacrificed financially, emotionally and in many other ways to serve at these places called churches. Yet we have been sorely disappointed over and over again. And really not just disappointed, but truly wounded.
So as I think of my Jesus…the One I love with all my heart and soul…the One who sacrificed everything for me…the One who the church is to emulate…I cannot emotionally afford to affiliate Him with the so-called church. If I do, I will reject Him as He has rejected me. I cannot imagine Him standing in a corner whispering about my clothing, or my height. I cannot imagine Him, not caring what financial dire straights I might be in. I cannot imagine Him, not checking in to see if my heart is heavy.
I had to walk out of the service this morning when the pastor was speaking of the many ways his church has truly been the hands and feet of Jesus. How they have reached out of their comfort zone to be and to do. Are there really churches like that? Are there really churches that Jesus pulls up a chair to join in their gathering, pleased with who they are striving to be? I really do hope so.
And I really do hope to someday be a part of community like that. One with true authenticity and integrity. One that cares for each and every person within its walls, and those outside in the surrounding community. A church that has pastors and elders not hiding behind the mask of their titles to promote their own agenda, without any thoughts of the ramifications that may follow. Spiritual abuse at its finest.
So that is my wish, my desire, my prayer – to feel the hands and feet of Jesus, and to be the hands and feet of Jesus to others. To be a part of what Paul described as THE CHURCH in Acts. I might just have to be satisfied with knowing I will be in a perfect church someday…but I will have to wait for Eternity. In the meantime? I really don’t have an answer.
